


Crimson in the Sunlight, Purple in the Spring

by sockablock



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Other, a conversation in the sun, and that's all that matters, flower-braiding, just 800 words of absolute tooth-rotting fluff, technically part of the 'In the Moments We Were Alone' verse, they love each other you guys, written for widomauk week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 18:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19183186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sockablock/pseuds/sockablock
Summary: It’s a tale that has been told countless times before. It’s a song that will be sung, again, countless more. It is a hand trailing murmurs through flower-woven hair, a laugh as alive as the breeze in the air. It is common, and unique, and encompasses all—It is the same two people, falling in love.





	Crimson in the Sunlight, Purple in the Spring

**Author's Note:**

> in memory of Chapter 6 of [In the Moments We Were Alone](https://www.sockablock.tumblr.com), the very first widomauk story I ever wrote, a little over one year ago.

It is morning.

They are seated by a river. Soft, wistful clouds trace the wind across the sky. The current hums beside them like it’s got nowhere to be. A dragonfly alights, cattails whistle on the breeze.

It is morning. It is summer. It’s a moment somewhere better.

Molly weaves a flower into wild auburn hair. His fingers work lazy, and methodical, and kind.

“You know,” he murmurs, to the man sitting by him, “Jester tells me that these flowers are called ‘blue dicks.’”

Caleb chokes so hard that for a second, he thinks he’ll die. He has to make a real effort not to turn.

“They’re  _what_?”

“You heard me.” Molly beams. “Though I’ve got to say, it isn’t all  _that_ accurate. For one thing, these little buggers are actually purple.”

“…and they…are they…you know…their shape…?”

“Ha! Rest easy.” He threads another in. “It’s not phallic in the least. Not unless you’ve got something…creative, going on.”

“Scrambled-egg creative?”

“Oh, no. Much worse.”

He can hear the laughter warm in Caleb’s answer.

“Ah well, then,  _Schatz_. We will do better next time.”

Molly plucks another tiny blossom from their pile. This one is white, like a drop of blooming snow.

“Do you remember the first time we did this, dear? Alone in the hallway of the Song and Supper? Just you, and me, and flowers in our hair?”

“You had firecrackers,” Caleb murmurs. “I believe there was lavender in mine.”

“You used your cat as a mirror,” Molly chuckles. “Where is Frumpy now, anyway?”

“Probably somewhere off spending time with Nott.” He leans into the gentle strokes of Molly’s hand. “You know, those two really do get along. She even reminds me of a cat sometimes, too.”

“She’s certainly got the eyes. And from what I’ve learned, she’s just as fierce when it comes to family.”

“Luc is a lucky boy.”

Molly grins. “So are you.” Then he pulls back and appraises his work.

“There we go, dear. Oh, you look so lovely. Like a sort of…well, a crazed druid.”

Caleb leans over the sunlit stream. He smiles at his reflection.

He’s come a long way.

“ _Danke, Schatz_.” He looks over his hair, turning to catch the sides of the rows. “You really are quite good at this.”

“I know,” Molly preens. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“ _Ja_ , well, I suppose it is my turn, now. Got a preference?”

Molly looks through their small pile.

“The yellow ones,” he decides, gently picking up a few. “And…yes, throw in some red for color.”

Caleb feels the chuckle like honey on his tongue. “I should have guessed.”

“Yes, you know what?” Molly nods. He tilts his head up, so his eyes are full of clouds. “You’re such a smart one, you probably didn’t need to ask.”

“Just in case,” Caleb gives a smile. “Besides, I like letting you boss me around.”

Molly laughs, and his jewelry sings. “Good! Because I, for one, like it too.”

They lapse into an easy silence after that, Caleb’s fingers working, Molly’s heartbeat thrilled.

Even after all this time, it’s the little acts of love that set his soul aflutter.

His shoulders ease and his eyelids start to close. He leans into the practiced fingers of his lover.

“Caleb?”

“Mmm?”

“I just remembered. It’s been more than a year, hasn’t it?”

He hums. “ _Ja_ , actually, it has. A year and two months and four days, to be exact.”

Molly carefully twists himself away. He turns around and gives a faint frown.

“You’ve been keeping track? Why didn’t you say something?”

Caleb shrugs. He lowers his flowers. One is crimson, the other gold.

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he says. “What’s one more year, when we’ve got our whole lives?”

Molly rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the smile. His cheeks are warm in the pale summer light.

“Gods above, you really  _are_ the charismatic one. Why is it that you’ve got such a silver tongue?”

Caleb grins. “I think, probably, from practice. That, and you bring it out in me.”

Even after all this time, Molly is still terrible at stringing up retorts. He settles instead for huffing loudly, turning around and letting Caleb get back to work.

Then again, he supposes, that’s victory enough. He hears the answering smile, feels a hand curve around his horns. The brush of gentle flowers settles softly into his hair.

He huffs again, though it’s more a slow sigh. This is where he wants to be.

“I love you, dear. I hope you know that.”

Caleb chuckles.

“I love you too.”

It is morning. It is summer. It is softness by a stream. It’s a moment somewhere better, in a patch of sun-warmed peace. A story lost to time, adrift in endless sea.

It’s a tale that has been told countless times before. It’s a song that will be sung, again, countless more. It is a hand trailing murmurs through flower-woven hair, a laugh as alive as the breeze in the air. It is common, and unique, and encompasses all; it’s the same two people, falling in love. In a thousand different ways, at a thousand different times.

It is crimson in the sunlight. It is purple in the spring.

It’s the same two people, falling in love.

Just love.

Together, in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Two months ago, I thought I had closed the chapter on this ship. Don't tell Beauyasha, but I'll always have a soft spot for these boys. So thank you to the wonderful folks at Widomauk Week for inspiring this fic, and to the community for always being loving, and being kind <3


End file.
